


Room to Grow

by CieldelaRose



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, The language of romantic touches as told by someone who finds it a bit hard to describe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28639797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CieldelaRose/pseuds/CieldelaRose
Summary: The Iron Bull considers the relationship between Lavellan and Dorian.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Room to Grow

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I had been toying with for a while. Really short little fic so I can get this out of my system. I'm not a native english speaker so *waves hand* please correct me if I'm wrong.

The air in the Exalted Plains comes with mist low to the ground and breeze that carries with it the smell of burning flesh. The Iron Bull, at home in mist-filled battlefields half a world away, is mostly unfazed by it. Despite the pyres lit in the ramparts, they had good visibility in every direction.

It is their second excursion here. They waited weeks in Skyhold while Cullen had his troops on the field build a makeshift bridge in the northern banks to patch to the Citadelle du Corbeau. Lavellan wanted to do as much as he could to earn favor with the Orlesian court before the upcoming ball.

With Gordian dead, the way to the citadel is clear of undead, but the remaining Freemen haven’t fully given over control of the region, and the lingering souls meant that wisps formed sometimes and wandered the plains.

They travel silently, as is Lavellan’s want, with Cole and Sera picking out a few stragglers before they get close enough to skirmish. Ahead of the Bull, Dorian and Paeris stick close in formation, so they can whisper to each-other as they please.

It’s a weird pairing, seeing how different the two are, but ever since they recruited the mages, Lavellan sought out the Vint for reassurance and it grew from there. It’s probably not even physical, given the boss’s nature, but it is comfort and steadying words, and at the end of the day that is probably what he needs to keep driving the Inquisition forward.

Lavellan doesn’t hold the rest of them at arm’s length as he did at the beginning, but he still keeps his distance. With the Bull in particular, it’s been a struggle to get close to the man while his distrust of the Ben-Hassrath still permeates their conversations.

In the beginning, Cassandra and Solas bore the brunt of his wariness. The Seeker with her love of the chantry, and the elf with his disdain for the Dalish. Strange that he was so cordial with Madame de Fer, even as he disdained her advice and her methods. Varric was one of the few he took an instant shine to, but he took Sera and Cole out into this excursion to get a feel for how they work together.

The Iron Bull watches as Lavellan halts Dorian with a hand around his arm. The boss circles the other hand in the air, and points to an outcrop where they can crouch to set up an ambush. They shuffle wordlessly to rest against the rock, and sure enough, a Freemen soldier and two archers round the bend and turn to the path they came through. Lavellan seems to listen for a moment, bending his head to sense if there are more Freemen, but soon gives them the signal to close in on the targets.

The Iron Bull is almost giddy with it. Sneaking around and picking their battles was easy for their current group, but not the Bull’s preferred style. He lets the rage boil his blood and steadies his arms to hold a swing that’ll take the closest enemies head straight off.

One of Sera’s arrows slips over his shoulder and his target gurgles and falls over with a surprised look on his face. She woops triumphantly and the Bull is competitive enough to be mad at her for stealing his kill, but then the red haze envelopes him and he is on the Freemen soldier before she can turn to see what happened to her comrade.

The remaining archer is quick enough to get through a rocky crevasse before Dorian’s flash of fire reaches him. Cole shimmers with a creepy there-then-not movement, half smoke powder half supernatural ability, and reappears above the outcropping, throwing one of his daggers into the archer’s head.

The Bull feels more than sees Dorian syphoning energy from their fallen enemies and doesn’t stop himself from blurting out a comment on how creepy it is.

“Really wish you’d stop doing that, big guy.” A misstep perhaps, Dorian and Bull are still building a rapport, and it has been hard to keep his personal feelings on magic in check. Sera huffs in support but is too engrossed in combing the bodies for coin to get involved. Paeris turns to look, but goes back to scouting the horizon when Dorian doesn’t immediately fluff up.

“It is this, or we waste our dwindling supplies on lyrium potions. Would you rather I just start hitting undead with the pointy end of my staff?” Dorian is fun to rile up, but its even better when he gets like this, adrenaline somehow turning him friendly and companionable, mellowing out his posturing. Easier without Blackwall and Vivienne around.

“Who knows, you might learn something.” The Bull says, and he ruffles through his pack to grab a cloth, so he can quickly clean out his axe so the gore doesn’t stick to it.

“I assure you, I certainly know how to handle myself should the need arise. Let us hope we don’t stoop to such extremes.” And then they are off again, passing the bridge, and for some reason the Bull keeps thinking of it. The memory of when they first saw the Vint in Redcliffe. His staff cutting through the air and jamming into a demon’s head. Elegantly poised but ruthless, clean.

A couple of months later sees them in Val Royeaux, doing favors for Josephine and going through the merchant’s stalls to fill out the gaps in their armor supply. Cassandra’s shield was lost in the Approach, tumbling over the edge in a clash with darkspawn. The boss takes her through the booths, smiling more than usual and taking the opportunity to put Josephine’s diplomatic training to good use.

Dorian slows his pace, nonchalantly browsing the wares until he’s keeping up with the Bull in the back. There’s a thoughtful look on his face, and he looks at the Seeker and the Inquisitor with a carefully guarded expression. Taking a sign from him, the Iron Bull slows down as well, and soon enough they are distant enough away that the Bull is confident that even the boss will have a difficulty hearing them above the noise level in the square.

“What do you think, then?” Dorian finally says, holding a red scarf in his hands like he’s considering buying it.

“Of what?” The Bull crouches down to get through the colorful tent without it catching on his horns.

“Don’t play dumb, Bull.” A scoff, and he passes onto a purple scarf that looks much better on his complexion.

A couple of stalls in front of them, Lavellan puts his hand on Cassandra’s arm as he bargains with the portly merchant for a box of warm undershirts and thighs. Probably purchasing suitable attire for a trip to the Emprise du Lion.

“The boss isn’t like that.” And he really isn’t. If anything good has come out of the Inquisition’s shaky first months, it’s that the Bull has a good read on the people he’s fought with. The boss is honest to a fault, and loyal, and has stood by Dorian even after the debacle with his father.

Alongside that, the Bull’s friendship with the mage has deepened as well. Dorian even joined the Chargers sometimes, merrymaking with them when Varric was occupied elsewhere. They got along well, and their conversations where good, a give and take and a fiery lead-on that saw Bull pick someone at the end of the night and feel strangely dissatisfied in the morning.

He knew, as well as Dorian knew, that the Inquisitor’s behavior was subconscious. An attraction shared in touches and smiles that hadn’t yet been brought to light. The Seeker would never step between them, but her yearning was plain and romantic, and she blushed uncharacteristically whenever Paeris turned his attention toward her.

The only surprise was Dorian, who didn’t seem as distraught at the thought of them as the Bull assumed he would be. He was a smart guy, probably saw this coming even before the Iron Bull did, but he seemed content to hover on the sidelines, letting their attraction grow uncontested. If anything, Dorian looked on, often deep in thought, but he had never asked for the Bull’s opinion until now.

Dorian reaches up to gently untangle an errant scarf that got stuck in back of the Bull’s chest piece as he brushed past the rack. The mage’s brow is still furrowed, but his jaw has unclenched, and his shoulders lie in rest once more.

“Perhaps not.” He replies softly and pats the Bull’s arm as he picks up the pace towards the next merchant.


End file.
